


Bittersweet

by Darelz



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Coffee date, Comfort, Cutipies, Embedded Images, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, POV Third Person, Pining, Post-Game(s), Pretty please can Trant/Jean's ship name be cutiepies?, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24416419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darelz/pseuds/Darelz
Summary: Jean and Trant visit a café to review a case together, and it's totally *not* a date.This was a collaboration betweenSerafimand me for the Disco Elysium Big Bang! I wrote the fic and fim createdthe gorgeous artwork.
Relationships: Trant Heidelstam/Jean Vicquemare
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14
Collections: Disco Elysium Big Bang





	Bittersweet

It's impossible to tell which is more bittersweet: the café's aroma or the detective sitting inside it. From the corner of the artisan café - not his choice of venue - Jean Vicquemare scowls as he reads through his case notes for the third time this morning. It's a relatively simple case, certainly not one which requires such a thorough reading, but there's little else for Jean to do while he waits for his companion to show up. Admittedly the wait is Jean's own fault for arriving half an hour earlier than arranged - a consequence of the strict organisational habits Jean has developed since becoming the major crimes unit's de facto leader, and certainly _not_ a sign that he might be eager to see his companion. After all, this was just going to be a meeting to discuss the details of THE DECAPITATED JANITOR case, there's absolutely nothing to excited ab-

Jean's head snaps up when he hears the café door swing open, and has to fight to keep himself from grinning like some lovestruck teenager when he recognises the person walking in. The battle is lost when Trant spots Jean and beams at him with an earnest smile that highlights Trant’s laugh lines. There are many things in the world that weigh upon Jean's mind - uncooperative witnesses, nagging superiors, and his truly disastrous goddamn partner - but he seems to forget them all when he sees that Innocentic smile. Trant’s grin is complemented by a similarly radiant outfit: a dress dainty and pink as a peony accompanied with kitten heels. It’s the sort of outfit a traditional Vasaan housewife might wear, though it suits Trant better than any bougie chick in Jean’s opinion. Usually a man would be harassed for wearing a dress in Revachol’s public spaces, but when that dress is covering muscles rivaling the Man from Hjelmdall’s, people suddenly become much more open minded. As muscular as Jean is, he’s not works-out-for-4-hours-a-day muscular like Trant is, so it’s only natural his gaze lingers on Trant’s rippling biceps. In fact, Jean’s starting to feel somewhat meager by comparison in his simple short-sleeved shirt and trousers, but such doubts are banished from his mind when Trant greets him.

"Vic, it's a pleasure to see you!"

Trant leans in to kiss Jean's cheeks, which coincidentally is when Jean notices his pulse is thrumming from all the coffee he's been drinking.

"Khm, you saw me a few days ago."

"It was a pleasure seeing you then too - it always is."

In the back of his mind Jean considers whether he ought to cut back on his caffeine consumption with the way his heartbeat is racing like a TipTop circuit motor carriage.

"I doubt it - we were working on the fucking CULT OF IMMOLATION case, which has been about as pleasant as licking clean a pig's shit-stained scrotum."

"Contrary to popular belief, pigs - or to call them by their scientific name, the sus genus - are quite cleanly creatures. They don't have sweat glands, meaning-"

"As *thrilled* as I am to hear about how pigs don't sweat, could we go order our drinks?"

"Oh, of course - I don't suppose the physiology of pigs is very interesting anyway."

Hearing Trant's dejected reaction, Jean's face sours in the regretful aftertaste of his bitter words. In truth, Jean’s curious to hear what Trant has to say about pigs - not that Jean particularly cares about pigs, but Trant has a way of piquing Jean's interest in otherwise dull topics. Jean finds himself falling into his usual pattern of self beration as he follows Trant across the café, but he's distracted from his moping when he detects that something’s different about Trant. It takes Jean a few moments to put his finger on exactly what it is before he realises: Trant's wearing the labdanum fragrance he saves for special occasions rather than his usual muskier cologne. Something about the familiarity of that smell and knowing Trant considers this a special occasion soothes Jean's nerves - something that Jean isn’t prepared to read into. When they arrive at the counter, Jean's quick to shift his attention to the menu, considering how sweet of a drink he can order without seeming childish. Perhaps he should get a black coffee, along with a slice of apple pie to mask the acrid flavour? Before Jean makes his mind up, a decision is made for him.

"One regular long black and a large mocha with whipped cream, please."

Jean gives Trant a pointed look - he expects this sort of presumptiveness from the skitkid, but Trant?

"I didn't know you were a member of the Remote Viewers Division."

Any grudge Jean may have held against Trant for ordering on his behalf is instantly erased by the blessed sound of Trant chuckling.

"I've worked with you for longer than the Commune of Revachol operated - I *know* that you prefer mocha, but refuse to order it for yourself. And since I intend on paying for your drink, I at least want you to get a drink that you enjoy."

"I can pay for my own damn drink, Trant."

"Of course, but social tradition dictates that the person who asked the other out covers any expenses incurred during the outing."

"That doesn't fucking apply! This is just a work meeting."

 _It's not like this is a date,_ is the part Jean leaves unspoken. Trant just hums to himself, with that knowing glint in his eye that says he knows something that Jean doesn't. That look frustrates Jean endlessly, it gives Jean the urge to shove Trant up against a wall and ki-...

That line of thought gets shut down faster than the Moralintern quashed Revachol's independence, but not before Jean's ears are set aflame. Jean's too distracted with his efforts not thinking about things he doesn't want to do with Trant to protest when Trant pays for both their drinks. By the time the drinks are ready, Jean has managed to regain his focus enough to notice that the drink given to Trant is obviously not a long black.

"Hey Special Consultant Know-It-All, I don't think that's your drink."

Trant's mouth quirks into a lopsided smile.

"Ah, well, I don't really want to make a fuss. I'm sure I'll enjoy this drink too."

"It's not making a fuss to ask for the drink you actually fucking ordered. Just tell the worker that you ordered a long black and they'll replace it - or if you want to play the bloody damsel in distress, I'll do it for you."

"Though you would make a *very* dashing knight in shining armour, I'd rather handle it myself."

 _You would make a *very* dashing knight_ … In the background Jean's vaguely aware of Trant awkwardly requesting a replacement drink, but it's drowned out by a cacophony of thoughts assaulting Jean with the force of a pale latitude compressor. That was a normal thing to say to a coworker, right? Right, Trant is simply secure enough in his masculinity to compliment his male coworkers without worrying about it seeming homo-sexual. There’s no way Trant’s actually homo-sexual, he has a son; it's not like Jean knows any other men who had been single for years after breaking up with a woman only to have a mid-life crisis that led to a bi-sexual awakening. Plus, in the hypothetical situation that Trant is bi-sexual, why would he flirt with *Jean* of all people? Trant’s a lovable dork packaged in a rugged body, he could do so much better than Jean. Not that Jean would even wa-

"Ah, Vic? I managed to sort it out, they're preparing a new drink now."

Startled, Jean's mouth starts working before his brain catches up.

"Wow, congrats on not backpedaling out of it for once - shit, seriously, I mean it."

Jean cringes at the backhanded compliment, frustrated that his instinct when he doesn’t know what to say is to be derisive. This is exactly the sort of thing that makes Jean wonder why someone as endearing as Trant would voluntarily spend their free time with him.

"I know you do Vic. I am grateful for your encouragement - it makes a world of difference."

"Alright, that's enough of this sappy crap."

Otherwise Jean might actually be persuaded that he's deserving of such kindness.

"Of course, representatives of the Revachol Citizens Militia don't do sappy - I'll keep that in mind the next time you decide to share an analysis of the latest romance novel you've been reading with me."

"Is that sass I'm detecting? You know you can get written up for talking back to your supervising officer."

"Ah, but despite the common belief that my supervising officer is a staunch miser, he's actually far too soft to write me up over such a minor offence." 

As much as Jean would like to protest against this, it's true that he rarely formally disciplines his subordinates. How could he when he continues to defend his own goddamn partner? At least other officers like Minot were actually trying their hardest.

"Khm…looks like your drink's ready. Let's get back to our damn table already Special Consultant Sass."

Drinks in hand, the pair return to their table, placing their cups among Jean's strewn notes. In lowered tones - Jean isn't foolish enough to go shouting details of the case in public - Jean begins reviewing THE DECAPITATED JANITOR case.

"The method of death makes it pretty fucking obvious this is a homicide. If a train had caused the decapitation it could indicate suicide, or industrial machinery could indicate an accident, but the body was discovered in middle of a park with no such machinery nearby. Only an idiot like Mills would doubt this was a murder. The body had been stripped of all possessions and left naked as a _baisable_ chick from the middle pages of a dirty mag. The grim MO suggests this was a gang-related crime, but that begs the question: why the fuck would a gang make an example out of a decrepit janitor?"

"Well, there has been a recent surge in reports of Besmertie gangs using the households of elderly citizens in their operations. This is typically done without the elderly individual's consent, in a practice referred to as "cuckooing" - named as such because some species of cuckoo are brood parasites. Though, this is a somewhat unfair characterisation of cuckoos, as the majority of cuckoo species actually…"

Taking a leisurely sip of his mocha to hide his amusement, Jean marvels at how Trant has managed to derail the conversation to a topic completely unrelated to the murder in just three sentences. Normally this would be when Jean cuts Trant off so they can focus back on their work, but since it's the weekend Jean doesn't see why he shouldn't indulge Trant - and okay, maybe Jean’s indulging himself too. While Jean has never given cuckoos a second thought before, the way Trant speaks about them with such enthusiasm has Jean enraptured. Tension etched into Jean's muscles by years of stress evaporates as Trant's bubbly voice washes over him, temporarily relieving Jean of his worries. With how soothing Trant's voice is, the café would kick them out before Jean even considered interrupting - though it doesn't come to that, as Trant's monologue concludes naturally after a few minutes.

"...Another example of cuckoos being used as a symbol of cuckoldry in Vesper-Messina culture comes from the comedic play _'Adoration's Act's Astray_ '. It's a fascinating play, worth viewing live if possible. Ah, but I believe I've gotten off topic."

As if he's only just realised that he's been talking for several minutes, a sweet pink warms Trant's cheeks. Any lingering pretense of making progress on the case is abandoned as Jean decides he cannot risk besmirching that precious expression with the grim details of the murder.

"Fuck it, I haven't had enough caffeine to deal with this shitty case yet," Jean lies - it's not as though Trant would would know, "Let's just forget about it for now. Say, how's the kid doing? Mikael's with his mother this week, right?"

"Yes, this is one of Aili's weeks, but I have Mikael back on Monday. Mikael's been doing very well - he's in good health, and lately he's taken an interest in art. He's quite a prolific creator, I'm running out of space to hang up all his pictures."

As though daring the laws of physics to call him out on it, Trant’s eyes light up impossibly brighter. In his line of work Jean's seen plenty of negligent parents, so Jean considers Mikael lucky to have such a caring father.

"Is that why your desk has been renovated into a modern art exhibit? I'd been wondering what that was about. Considered it might be our own resident artist roping you into his latest insane project."

"Oh no, those are all Mikael originals. How is your own 'kid' faring though?"

"What, skitkid? By some fucking miracle he's remained sober. Getting a hobby seems to have helped - gives him something to do instead of making world record attempts for how many Potent Pilsners a single man can down. He's still a trainwreck - his clothes are always stained with paint splatters, and I keep having to redo his paperwork because it's covered in doodles - but he's a sober trainwreck."

As he talks Jean slouches back in his chair, causing his knee to accidentally brush up against Trant's. Obviously Jean's aware that the polite thing to do would be to move his leg back, but when he attempts to do so his leg refuses to respond, paralysed by the electric sensation of the connection. Thankfully it seems that Trant doesn’t mind as he doesn’t retreat either, and perhaps Jean is imagining things but it feels as though Trant even leans into the touch. That’s probably just what it means to be super comfortable with your hetero-sexuality, Jean supposes.

"I'm quite glad to hear that. Has the book I gave to Harry been of any use at keeping him occupied?"

"The one about the commune on another planet, White Star? Yeah, and he won't shut the bloody hell up about it. I wouldn't mind him talking about so much it he could at least save it until after we finished interviewing the fucking witnesses."

Trant glances around the room before continuing; not everyone is as comfortable letting the world know their revolutionary views as Harry.

"But you would be fine with Harry's proselytization if it was at a more appropriate time? It seems as though we'll make a comrade out of you yet."

"I’ve told you before, I'm not smart enough for politics. I'll leave that crap to you and shitkid."

"Don't put yourself down like that. I've met interesting individuals from every corner of Elysium over the years, but I maintain that you're one the most intelligent people I've had the pleasure of knowing."

“That’s… Khm.”

Not for the first time today, a stupid grin invades Jean’s face, and he can’t even hide it by taking a sip of his drink because he doesn’t trust his mouth to function properly right now. Normally Jean isn’t so affected by the rare praise he receives, but for some reason when Trant compliments him so earnestly it makes him feel... special.

“But to return to books, that author you're a fan of - Pythias Suede - recently released a sequel to ‘Hot Heart’. We could visit an underground friendly bookshop, if you’re interested in procuring a copy?”

‘Hot Heart’ is what Jean would describe as a trashy gay romance that happens to contain a _smidge_ of porn - which is not what Jean read it for, he read it for the compelling dynamic between the love interests. Regardless of the why, Revachol being the way it was meant there were few people Jean could share his passion for romance novels with. But he could trust Trant, who not only listened without judgement whenever Jean felt brave enough to explain why the dedication between a fictional couple was so deeply moving, but who even remembered Jean’s favourite authors.

“That… actually sounds like a half decent idea. Let me finish my drink real quick.”

“You don’t have to-”

But it’s too late: Jean is already chugging his mocha. Of course there’s no hurry to leave, but rushing to finish his drink was something of a ritual whenever Jean went out with Trant. The way Trant crinkled his nose and gently scolded Jean was too endearing for Jean to stop the tradition.

“Really Vic, I can’t take you anywhere - look, you’ve even gotten some on your cheek.”

Rolling his eyes, Jean rubs his cheek with his sleeve.

“Did I get it, Special Consultant Fussy-Pants?”  
  
“No, just let me…”

Suddenly Trant’s leaning across the table, inches away from Jean’s face. Up this close Jean can see the sky blue sparkle of Trant’s irises, smell the addictive aroma of coffee on Trant’s breath, and feel a warmth from Trant’s body that somehow sends shivers down Jean’s spine. Any lingering cognitive function Jean has is disrupted when Trant’s thumb brushes across his cheek, with a gentleness that makes the Col Do Ma Ma Daqua seem aggressive. Then all too soon Trant is back on the other side of the table, and Jean lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I could’ve...khm. We’re leaving now.”

“Okay.”

On his way out of the café Jean notices he’s experiencing mild palpitations again, and decides he definitely ought to cut back on the caffeine. 

~  
  


“I can’t believe I made the mistake of training with Torson again. The idiot works out like he’s doing it for an entire army! At least you bring your routine down to sane levels when we’re working out together, but Torson's too thick for that sort of empathy.”

Jean’s ranting in full force as he and Trant exit a bookshop, heading onto a riverside walkway. As suggested, Jean has obtained a copy of Suede’s latest novel, whilst Trant opted for an anthology of traditional myths to read to Mikael and a criminology reference book for himself. The pair have also each brought a copy of 'The Collapse of Quantum Entroponetical Theory' to read through and discuss together. Since Harry's… _difficulties,_ Jean has been hesitant to discuss entroponetics with Harry lest it trigger another existential crisis, which means these days Trant’s the only person Jean is able to debate entroponetics with. Sometimes Jean feels as though he has minimal insight to offer in comparison to his well-read companion, but Trant always listens intently to whatever Jean had to say. Even now, as Jean goes on a tirade about something as inconsequential as his training session with Torson, Trant is paying close atten- actually, Trant doesn’t seem to be paying much attention on this occasion. Rather, Trant appears to be completely out of it, barely avoiding other pedestrians.

“10-20, you there Special Consultant Scatterbrain?”  
  
“Hm? Sorry, I don’t think I quite caught the last thing you said.”

Trant flashes an apologetic smile, a distracted look still ghosting his face.

“Is something wrong? You seem out of it…”  
  
“Ah, no, it’s nothing to worry about Vic."

Even if Jean wasn’t so familiar with Trant’s cadence from countless hours of listening to him rambling, it would be easy to spot the quiver in Trant's voice.

“Heidelstam, you lie about as well as a flasher caught with their dick in their hand. Are you having another of those visual flashbacks?"

The way Trant's eyes widen in reaction tells Jean he's spot on. As a result of his former pyrholidon addiction, Trant has type-1 hallucinogen persisting perception disorder, which means he occasionally experiences visual flashbacks to past drug trips. Mercifully, Trant’s hallucinations are fairly mild and rarely accompanied by any other major symptoms, but Jean’s aware the hallucinations could be distressing, or at least distracting. 

“Really, it’s not worth worrying about - it will pass soon enough.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit Trant. We’re going to sit our asses down so I can make sure you're alright."

Before Trant can protest, Jean grabs Trant's hand and drags him over to a nearby bench facing the river. The bench is in surprisingly pleasant condition for Revachol: the design is genuinely comfortable, and it's free of the usual graffiti. Jean ushers Trant onto the bench and sits beside him, overlooking the river as it shimmers like stained glass in the sunlight. 

"Ah, I suppose this isn't so bad."

"Good, we can stay here like this for as long as you want."

It’s only after the words leave Jean's mouth that he registers he’s still holding onto Trant’s hand. Turning rigid at the implications, Jean’s gaze flicks over to Trant in panic - but Trant is still beaming with his usual sunny disposition, apparently unperturbed by the situation. Gradually, the tension eases from Jean’s muscles, and he relaxes his hand in its position atop Trant’s. Maybe it’s okay to stay like this; holding Trant’s hand felt… nice. Natural, even. Jean’s certain his hand hadn’t been cold before, yet the warmth of Trant’s hand feels like the coming of spring, melting a frost Jean didn’t realise he’d been afflicted by. Compelled to memorise every detail of Trant’s hand, Jean notes that years of stick-fighting have left Trant’s hand inlaid with worn trenches of calluses. Yet there’s also a surprising softness to it - knowing Trant, Jean supposes that he uses a fancy lotion. While making these observations Jean finds himself staring into Trant’s eyes - he decides that Trant’s eyes are a prettier blue than the river, or any other blue he’s seen for that matter. Time seems to have stilled to allow Jean to cherish this intimate moment, so Jean has no idea how long it’s been before Trant speaks up again.

"For as long as I want… that could be a very long time."

It takes Jean a moment to process what exactly Trant means - when it sinks in, Jean snaps his head away before the heat spreading across his cheeks rivals the internal temperature of the Corpus Mundi volcano. Jean isn’t ready to confront the full extent of what Trant’s words mean just yet - but there is one thing Jean’s certain of.  
  
“That doesn’t matter. I’ll stay here with you for as long as you’ll have me.”  
  



End file.
